


starbird|phoenix

by glorious_clio



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, good soft pilot boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 12:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16118441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: Poe Dameron has a night of recruiting ahead of him.





	starbird|phoenix

**Author's Note:**

> I finished this today, and because it was such a ...day, I decided to post it. Unbeta'd. 
> 
> I wish you good soft pilot boys.

It was a dark and stormy night-

-of course, this was Pamarthe, an oceanic world with storms that frequently ripped through the atmo. Poe Dameron was here on a recruitment mission. This was something Rose Tico had taken on, but Poe needed pilots, and there was no better place than Pamarthe. Though Rose was a handy pilot herself, she didn’t want to attempt the storms that rolled over the planet. She could have done it, Poe thought, nursing his Starfire ‘Skee. Any of them could. But he also had the sneaking suspicion that Rose, Finn, and Rey were trying to give him some unofficial R&R.

Or at least a drink, even if it did taste like a laserbolt to the gut. He was still damp from the storm raging outside. After landing his starfighter, Poe crossed a rope bridge at a run from the landing pad to this small island. Even still, the cantina wasn’t easy enough to find, the flickering light above the door was dim and cast shadows.

The storms here kept only the bravest in the air, small islands connected by bridges maddening to traverse on foot. And the pockets of life were spread out enough that the First Order hadn’t taken hold. Its position in the Outer-Rim offered the illusion of safety. Even the Empire never got far here. But their pilots were brave and bold and bright. They had to be. They had no love for fascists and planet-killers.

Inside the cantina was dark, lit by a few recessed lights above the bar and a roaring fire in the hearth -- a trio was settled in the cozy chairs around the warmth. There was a cluster of folks playing darts in the corner. More beings sat in booths in twos and threes, searching through datapads, likely looking for a good paying run or other odd jobs. The bar was sticky under his fingers, but it was a comfortable haven. There was soft music playing, barely audible above the rain that pounded against the windows, but the ambient sounds masked the low talk between patrons. Poe was just pondering ways to open some conversations, to start feeling out the other beings in this cantina, when someone hurried into the bar and sat next to him on his right, rain water dripping onto Poe’s pants. His guard went up.

“You know, _poy nerra_ , when you send out a rendezvous signal, you shouldn’t leave that point immediately after.”

Poe’s jaw dropped, as the man pulled back a hood to reveal a shock of green hair.

“Holy _kriff_ , what are you doing here?!”

Jacen Syndulla shot Poe a roguish grin, his front teeth a little more pointed than any human had a right to have. “Like we were going to ignore Leia Organa’s call,” he replied.

Poe felt his face relax into a smile and the two men embraced despite the wet.  

“Who’s we?” Poe asked, leaning over the bar and trying to flag down the server.

“Oh you know,” Jacen said, peeling off the jacket of his flight suit and draping it over the back of his stool. The rest of his jumpsuit was dark gray, with a lothwolf on his bicep. There was a stylized starbird wing over the left shoulder of his thermal vest.

Poe hadn’t seen Jacen in years. _Poy nerra_ \- it was Ryl, it meant something like _brother in wings_ , there wasn’t a clean translation. But Shara Bey had been friends with Hera Syndulla from just a few months after Poe was born, a few months before Jacen arrived. After the fall of the Empire, Poe and Jacen had been frequent playmates with matching interests in all things spaceflight.

Jacen collapsed forward on his elbows, his left hand brushing over his right shoulder, a tick picked up from Hera. “Mom’s on Ryloth, rallying support. She sent me and Chopper to find you - he’s guarding the _Phantom III_.”

“Oh good,” Poe teased. “We’ve been needing a murder droid.” No doubt Chopper would be a terrible influence on BB-8. The less said about the fate of the _Phantom II_ , the better, and anyway, that hadn’t really been Poe’s fault. He waved for the server again, and a dark-haired human finally made his way over.

“Another Starfire ‘Skee for me,” Poe said.

“And I’ll have a hot chocolate,” Jacen said.

As the server moved away again, Jacen said, “Chop’s forgotten more about rebellion than I ever learned.”

Poe slung an arm around the shoulder of his oldest playmate. “Don’t worry, I’ve seen you fly. You’re in. So’s your mom, she can have her old Squadron designation even, and her rank.”

Jacen laughed. “So that makes, what, eight of us?”

Poe drew his arm back and dramatically clutched it to his chest. “Excuse me, Spectre _Seven_.”

The server came back with their drinks. “I opened a tab for you, Mr. Hot-Chocolate.”

The two men offered their thanks. Jacen Syndulla was unfazed by any sort of dismissal over his drink choices. Poe didn’t care, and anyway, Parmathe’s alcoholic claim to fame was Port in the Storm, which some of his pilots used to clean their engine components. Jacen’s green-tipped fingers wrapped around the chipped mug, seeking warmth.

Poe took a big draw from his glass of ‘skee, which he hoped would have the same effect.

“I won’t lie to you, numbers are... small.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Jacen said. “Small teams can pack a punch. And after what happened to the Hosnian system....”

Poe scrubbed his hands over his face, remembering Jacen was born in the moments between the battle of Scariff and the battle of Yavin, when Alderaan had been lost. Just then, Poe didn’t have the heart to tell his wing brother the details of Crait.

Instead, he knocked his shoulder into Jacen’s lothwolf. “Glad to have you aboard. And half of Ryloth, knowing Hera.”

Jacen smiled. “The fight’s never left grandfather,” he agreed.

“Is that the other half of Ryloth then?”

Jacen shook his head, laughing.

Poe sipped his ‘skee. Jacen blew on his hot chocolate and drank deeply.

“So how did you find me?” Poe asked.

“Mom and I figured you’d be looking for pilots. This seemed like the logical place to start.”

Poe did a quick scan of the cantina again. No one seemed to be watching them. He hoped they looked like two ordinary pilots, waiting out the storm. All the same, this was going to be his last ‘skee - it was better to have his wits about him.

Jacen leaned back against his stool. “So, what’s new?” he asked conversationally, almost blithely.

Poe laughed. Jacen was going to be good for the Resistance. Time since his mission to Jakku had been a blur or adrenaline and exhaustion.

They didn’t talk about that, though. It had been years since they’d seen each other, but it felt like no time had passed at all. The compared scars and tattoos, they told stories, they reminisced like the childhood friends they were. They even claimed the comfy chairs in front of the fire after the trio left.

The rain had lessened about midnight. And Poe had still not recruited any of the patrons around him, or talked to anyone but Jacen.

 _Still_ , he thought. _That’s two for our side. Three, with C1-10P_.

Around one, they ran out of stories they could share without violating clearances. It wouldn’t be long before Jacen would know everything, but Poe was too comfortable to even think about anything other than the mug of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. They fell into a companionable silence, just listening to the wind and the rain outside.

The servers began the work of closing the cantina; closing tabs, stacking chairs, vacuuming under empty tables. Poe swallowed the last of his hot chocolate.

“I have a safe house nearby. You’d be welcome to stay there, I can’t imagine it’s less comfortable than the _Phantom III_.”

“I’m in,” Jacen said, scattering enough credits to cover his tab on a side table.

They stood and drew their hoods. The thunder and lightning outside had moved off, but the rain was still coming down. The two men were out in it, almost swimming to the safehouse, an anonymous looking flat in an anonymous looking building, the cheaply fabbed furniture and scratchy linens were welcome. There was plenty of hot water, and a few rations in a galley kitchen.

The door was locked, and they were on the couch, listening to the rainfall.

“I hadn’t realized how hard this would be,” Poe confessed out of nowhere. “This is supposed to be a relaxing trip, but I have one ear on the the news, one eye on the door. Neither of my parents held command positions.”

Jacen slung an arm around Poe. “My mom never said it would be easy, her stories are ...pragmatic. And the scars on Ryloth are deep. But we can’t ever give up.”

Poe let himself sink further into the couch. “I don’t want to give up. Not exactly. I’m just tired.”

Jacen let that confession settle, and then said. “Get some sleep, _poy nerra_. I’ll take the first watch.”

Poe nodded and shrugged, Jacen withdrew his arm.

It was nearly dawn by the time Poe crawled into bed, but there was almost no light through the stormy clouds. It was ok, he thought, falling back on the bed. Jacen would keep the light in the common room. And later, Jacen would help him recruit some more pilots.

By the time he flew back to Finn and Rose and Rey, he wanted a full _poy_ family.


End file.
